


hot and bothered

by ito



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Art School, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 04:23:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11821158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ito/pseuds/ito
Summary: taeyong unexpectedly goes into heat and enlists the aid of an alpha with whom he is only tangentially acquainted





	hot and bothered

**Author's Note:**

> this is probably the filthiest thing i've ever written, just take it

The heat always presents itself as a fever at first, which of course slips Taeyong’s mind as he groans and snoozes his phone’s alarm for the last time, struggling to pry his eyes open. He’s got a million other problems on his mind already, and he’s not about to make it a million-and-one with the added issue of a burgeoning cold. He’s already missed his morning art history class too many times, and although there’s nothing he’d like better than to be a warm cozy burrito in bed all day, Taeyong forces his weary body out of the blankets with another pained groan.

 

“You look like death,” Yuta says when he sees his ailing roommate stumble into the kitchen and grope around for coffee grounds in the freezer. Taeyong just pouts at him, measuring out some water and whacking the coffee maker with the heel of his hand (they found it on the side of the road after graduation last year. It’s finicky).

 

“What are _you_ doing up?” Taeyong asks as the machine starts hissing and bubbling and reluctantly spitting out dark coffee into the monogrammed mug he got at Harry Potter World.

 

“I’m going to the boardwalk with Sicheng today, remember?” Yuta replies, not looking up from his phone. The lucky bastard doesn’t have any morning classes this semester, something Taeyong envies to no end whenever he sees his roommate drinking with friends on some random Wednesday night. “I probably won’t be getting back ‘til late, so take your key when you leave.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Taeyong grunts, filling his mug and heading back to his room to get dressed. He peels off his sleeping shirt, which is oddly damp even though he’s almost shivering from chills. He stares at the button down that he’d folded and placed on his desk chair the night before, and for some reason he really, really doesn’t want to put it on. He shrugs off this feeling and pulls on the flannel, which is almost immediately too warm and oddly rough against his skin. Taeyong rubs the fabric between his thumb and forefinger questioningly, before writing off the weird feeling as an unfortunate symptom of his fever. After all, it’s one of his favorite shirts.

 

Soon he’s fully dressed and staring at the bathroom mirror. He doesn’t look _that_ bad. His dark circles are a little deeper than usual, and his face is a bit shiny and pale except for the faint blush on his neck and the tops of his cheekbones. Taeyong splashes cool water on his face and deems himself healthy enough to attempt to stay awake through class.

 

He shouts a goodbye at Yuta as he heads out, barely catching his bus in time. The woman he sits next to keeps glancing at him nervously, perhaps worried about catching whatever he’s got. By the time he makes it to the main campus, Taeyong’s limbs feel heavy and his joints ache.

 

He finds Doyoung smoking outside of the media studies building when he gets there. Doyoung looks him up and down with squinted eyes.

 

"You look like you’re coming off of some weird rave drug,” he says finally, and Taeyong laughs. He likes Doyoung, even if their conversations mostly involve insults and dirty inside jokes. Since Doyoung does ceramics and Taeyong does painting, the two haven’t shared a class together since intro to life drawing freshman year.

 

(Taeyong had looked over at the neighboring easel on their first day of sketching a nude model. He wasn’t sure how much detail he was supposed to put into the genital area, and he couldn't keep himself from laughing when he looked at Doyoung’s paper to see that he had focused on making the dick far more complex and well-rendered than the rest of the body. Doyoung had heard Taeyong’s snort and glared at him before blushing and erasing the masterful penis, and then they had gone to get coffee after class and split three Parliaments between the two of them. They’ve been best friends ever since.)

 

“You look like you were carried here from Kansas by tornado,” Taeyong replies. He gestures at Doyoung’s overalls, stained pale gray and crusty with dried slip. Doyoung just sniffs and strikes a pose.

 

“It’s tradition. I wouldn’t be a ceramicist if I didn’t own at least one pair like this,” he says. “For real though, are you sure you shouldn’t be in bed? You look gross.” Doyoung takes a drag, acting as if he didn’t just voice his concern for his friend’s health (in his own unpleasant way).

 

“Thanks,” Taeyong deadpans, “I’d honestly love to be asleep right now, but I’m already too far behind in this class, and if I’m absent again I’ll probably definitely fail.”

 

“Whatever, just don’t puke or anything,” Doyoung says, smushing his cigarette into the sidewalk and straightening up. “Are you late yet?”

 

“Hope not. How’s his mood today?” Doyoung has a class with Taeyong’s teacher right before him on Thursdays.

 

“I don’t know, constipated as usual. You should get in there,” Doyoung says. Taeyong nods and waves as his friend walks away, taking a deep breath before forcing his aching legs to carry him inside.

 

Class is boring as ever. Taeyong knows that as someone attempting a BFA he should consider the old masters to be somewhat more interesting, but it’s pretty dull to just sit there and listen to a lecture when usually he’s just longing to actually put paint on a canvas. Today, however, it’s like his attention is even more fractured than usual. For one thing, the flannel shirt on his back is somehow far too heavy, and even in the chilly air-conditioned lecture hall Taeyong can feel sweat beading on the back of his neck. And was the fan always this loud? He swears he can hear the ticking of the clock across the room and the thrumming of the boiler under his feet. He also feels as though everybody’s staring at him, like he can feel the presence of every person in the room pressing up against his own personal bubble. His head throbs and the professor’s PowerPoint goes blurry for a second. And then he smells it, and his stomach drops.

 

The scent of his own arousal is slowly creeping upwards from where it was previously contained in his jeans, and Taeyong feels the blood drain from his face as he glances around to see if anyone else can smell it. Shit, _shit_.

 

He hasn’t gone through a real heat in _years_ , not since his parents put him on suppressants when his omega characteristics first manifested in his early teens. He remembers his first heat, though, how it felt like his body was burning up, how he thrashed and twisted in his stripped-down bed despite knowing that nothing would make it better.

 

Well, not nothing. But he was fifteen, then. Too young for the recommended treatment.

 

Now, the twenty-two-year-old omega shrinks in his seat, the pounding in his head only getting worse. He risks another glance around the room to see if anyone has noticed, and his stomach twists when his eyes meet those of a bulky dude from across the room. Art history has the most students of any class that Taeyong is taking, and he hasn’t gotten to know any of his classmates, but the guy that’s staring at him right now is clearly an alpha, if the douchey tank-top and the dark look on his face are anything to go by. Taeyong feels a bit nauseous, and then he realizes that statistically speaking there are _definitely_ more alphas in the room with him, and that they’ll be the first to smell the warm scent coming from between his shaky legs.

 

_Just this class. Just gotta get through this class, and then home, and then bed,_ Taeyong thinks, his heart stuttering when he realizes that he dreads taking public transportation in his current state even more than the alpha staring at him from across the room.

 

“Hey, are you okay? You’re shaking,” says a gentle voice from his right. Taeyong’s head jerks up, and oh, it’s just Taeil. The two of them sit together every Thursday but have only made the barest minimum of small talk. Still, Taeyong knows he’s a graphic design major and most likely a beta, and therefore non-threatening.

 

“I’m fine,” Taeyong grits out.

 

“You’re clearly _not_ fine,” Taeil asserts. “You should go to see the nurse.”

 

“It’s okay,” Taeyong huffs, hands gripping his notebook and dampening the paper. “I swear, it’s just a little cold.”

 

Taeil raises an eyebrow. “We both know it’s not a cold,” he replies. “Now get out of here before it gets worse, alright?”

 

Taeyong stares at him for a second before sighing and raising his hand. It takes the professor a second to call on him, since he’s gotten so wrapped up in talking about El Greco. “Yes, Mr. Lee?”

 

“Sir, I’m not feeling well,” Taeyong says, already rising to his feet. “If it’s okay, I’d like to go—” And then his vision swims a little and his knees buckle. Taeyong slams a sweaty hand onto the table to keep from losing his footing completely, choking on his spit and forcing himself not to look around to see who caught a glimpse of his stumble. He feels, rather than hears, the murmur that spreads across the room and blushes vibrantly. He can vaguely hear the professor’s approval of Taeil’s request to take him to the infirmary, and he thankfully takes the helpful hand that he’s offered.

 

The health services building is just a block away, but Taeyong is thankful that Taeil is there to help support his weight. During the short walk he apologizes again and again, and Taeil keeps saying that it’s okay, as if he’s just doing what anyone would do.

 

When they reach the infirmary, Taeil sets Taeyong down on a bench outside of the office and waits with him.

 

“Do you want some water?” he asks.

 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Taeyong asks back.

 

Taeil sighs. “I guess you just remind me of me. I know what you’re going through.”

 

“You’re an omega?” Taeyong says, keeping his voice hushed. Up until now, the only male omega he’s known is himself.

 

Taeil shrugs. “We’re more common than they make it seem. It’s normal,” he says.

 

“That's what everyone’s been telling me,” Taeyong says doubtfully. “You can go back to class, you know,” he adds, feeling a little guilty.

 

“If you think I’m leaving before you get medical attention, you’re crazy,” Taeil laughs. “You should have seen how the alphas in that room were looking at you. You shouldn’t be left alone.”

 

Taeyong cringes, both from embarrassment and from anxiety. Everyone knows that alphas are _entirely capable_ of keeping their hormones in check when an omega is in heat. It’s been scientifically proven that there’s no “primal instinct” that makes an alpha prey upon an unwilling omega, just like there’s nothing that would make an omega on heat jump an unwilling alpha. The thing is, most alphas just feel _entitled_ to omegas, ignoring science and claiming “birthright.” Taeyong has been fortunate enough not to have to deal with the sickening acts that are often committed against omegas, but from what he’s read, he would be in the minority. He gives Taeil a thankful, if tired, smile.

 

A nurse invites him inside before too long, and Taeil says goodbye with a sad smile, as if he already knows what the next few hours of heat are going to be like. Taeyong waves regretfully and follows the nurse into the office, where he’s offered a drink and told to take a seat.

 

“You shouldn’t have waited so long,” the nurse says, taking his temperature. “You’re really burning up. Have you been taking medication for your heats?”

 

“Yeah,” Taeyong says. “For almost seven years now. I haven’t really experienced a real heat since I was in high school.”

 

The nurse hums, jotting something down on a clipboard. “What made you stop taking your suppressants?”

 

Taeyong gulps. “Well, uh, I guess I don’t have a good reason. It’s just… hard. Refilling prescriptions when I’m at school.”

 

The nurse nods, the sound of the pen scratching against paper echoing in Taeyong’s head. “Do you have other medication that you take?”

 

“Um, I’ve got a Concerta prescription but I stopped taking it a while ago. It made me lose too much weight.”

 

“Alright,” the nurse says. “We can refill your suppressants but they won’t do you any good at this stage in your heat. Also, I hate to tell you this, but since your body isn’t used to these hormonal changes, it’s going to be way more intense than a heat usually is. It would be difficult even for someone who hasn't been on suppressants all his adult life. Do you have a mate to help you through it?” Taeyong shrinks in his seat and shakes his head, chewing his lower lip. His shirt is starting to stick to his back with sweat, and it’s like he can feel every woven thread pressing into his skin. The nurse hums and nods. “Alright. Remember to stay hydrated. See if you can sleep through it,” she suggests. “You must be exhausted.”

 

Taeyong nods, but in reality he feels wired, similar to sophomore year finals when he was up at three in the morning, working through the haze of sleep deprivation and behavioral enhancers. Like then, his body aches to lie down but his heart is racing, leg bouncing on the infirmary’s white linoleum floor.

 

“Do you have a beta or omega friend who can take you home?” the nurse asks.

 

“My roommate… no, right, he’s out of town… I guess I’ll call Doyoung,” Taeyong says, mostly to himself. The nurse nods and stands up.

 

“I’m glad you came to see us, Taeyong,” she says. “Tonight will be difficult, but just hang in there and you’ll make it through, okay?” Taeyong nods, and when she leaves to refill his meds, he takes out his phone and calls Doyoung.

 

Doyoung is… well, he’s understanding. Sort of. He also laughs his ass off, but that’s to be expected. He probably would have laughed if Taeyong told him he’d gotten hit by a car.

 

When Doyoung finally gets there, the chills have long since passed and Taeyong feels his body temperature steadily rising. He’s running a shaky hand through his bangs to keep them from sticking to his forehead when his phone buzzes, alerting him that Doyoung is waiting outside.

 

The ancient Avalon that Doyoung shares with Jaehyun doesn’t have an aux cord or even a CD player. Instead they keep a flimsy box of thrifted cassette tapes on the back seat. Taeyong can hear the brassy big band music playing as soon as he leaves the building.

 

“You’re gonna have to turn that down,” he says as he opens the car door and slides into the passenger seat. “Everything’s too loud right now.”

 

“Oh, right, I forgot you had morning sickness,” Doyoung says, but he reaches out to lower the volume anyway before pulling out of the illegal parking job and driving back towards student housing. Doyoung stays quiet, but Taeyong can feel his eyes glance over at him occasionally, as if he wants to say something but doesn’t want to sound dumb or rude (for once).

 

Taeyong rolls his eyes and clears his throat. “What is it?” he snaps. “Whatever you’re thinking, spit it out. I promise I won’t be mad.”

 

Doyoung raises an eyebrow and purses his lips. Then he asks, “So, do you, like, have a boner right now?”

 

Taeyong groans, knocking his head back against his seat. “No,” he answers truthfully. “At least, not yet. Right now I just feel like ass.”

 

“You look like it, too,” Doyoung replies cheerfully, pulling into student parking. He gets out first and walks around to Taeyong’s side, helping him into the building with a supportive arm wrapped under his shoulders. “Christ, you stink,” Doyoung says as they wait for an elevator.

 

“Thanks,” Taeyong says, flushing. “Is it obvious?” he mumbles.

 

Doyoung sniffs him again, which makes him feel even more embarrassed. “I mean… yeah. But it’s not _that_ bad.” Taeyong nods, not feeling any better.

 

They’re standing outside of Taeyong and Yuta’s apartment, and Taeyong’s got his hand on the doorknob, and when his attempt to turn it is met with the cold resistance of a metal lock, he just crumbles to the ground in defeat. Doyoung just lets him fall, the bastard, crossing his arms and staring down at the mess he calls a best friend.

 

“I don’t have my key,” Taeyong wails.

 

“You’re a damn fool,” Doyoung says calmly.

 

“Yuta’s going to be out until midnight, probably later,” Taeyong groans, head falling into his hands. “I might have a panic attack, is that okay?”

 

Doyoung sighs deeply. “Yeah, alright, or you could come to my place.”

 

Taeyong looks up at him, eyes wet. Damn hormones. “B-but Jaehyun, isn’t he an alpha? What if he’s around?” The thought of being around Jaehyun while he’s in heat is a completely horrifying thought to Taeyong, and it would be even if he wasn’t an alpha. The two of them had first met at a party last year, and things got… uncomfortable. Taeyong didn’t know he was Doyoung’s new roommate, and Doyoung walked in at the wrong moment and saw him naked… It was a bad time all around, excepting everything leading up to the mediocre sex.

 

“I’ll just text him and tell him to stay out,” Doyoung offers. “He’ll understand.” Taeyong just whimpers thankfully and stretches out his arms, silently asking to be helped up. Doyoung scoffs and rolls his eyes, dragging him to his feet.

 

Doyoung and Jaehyun’s apartment isn’t far, but by the time they get there Taeyong’s clothes feel _way_ too constricting. As soon as they get through the door, Taeyong starts unbuttoning his shirt. He glances worriedly at Doyoung, who looks like he is about to say something snarky before thinking better of it. Instead he goes into the kitchen and gets a cider from the fridge.

 

“Should you be, like, lying down or something?” he asks, cracking open the can and taking a sip.

 

“Are you offering me your bed?” Taeyong asks back. Although his legs are shaking, he doesn’t feel tired. He hopes it’s just nerves, and that once the adrenaline leaves his system he can just pass out and sleep through the rest of his heat.

 

“Yeah, whatever,” Doyoung replies, “Just change the sheets when you’re… over it.”

 

“Thanks,” Taeyong says, and he heads into Doyoung’s room. It’s noticeably smaller than his own, since he’s used to living in the upperclassman dorms, and it smells like Doyoung. As a beta, Doyoung doesn’t give off a particularly strong scent, and if it weren’t for the heat sharpening his senses, Taeyong might not have picked up on it as strongly. Today, however, the gingery smell is everywhere, and it’s actually somewhat comforting as Taeyong strips off his clothes down to his underwear and climbs in bed.

 

The covers are immediately too warm, and he kicks them off with a groan. Then, as he lays there, half-naked and doing nothing but letting the heat wash over him, his mind drifts back to his first heat and how painful it was, how disgusting he felt. Blurry memories start coming back; how humiliated he was to be seen by his parents, how he couldn’t look in the mirror for days afterwards. He suddenly recalls a fever dream he had in which he was pregnant, heavy, weighed down to the floor and unable to walk. He feels his throat constricting and he starts to have trouble breathing.

 

Doyoung comes in to check on him around twenty minutes later, and finds that Taeyong has cleaned his entire room. Taeyong looks at him sheepishly, arms full of folded laundry. Doyoung just sighs.

 

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he says.

 

“If I don’t do anything I’ll start hyperventilating,” Taeyong replies, wobbling over to the bureau and gently putting the clothes in the open drawer.

 

Doyoung takes a deep breath, in and out through his nose. “Well,” he says finally, “Why don’t you clean the kitchen. That way I can keep an eye on you.” Taeyong has the energy to wink at him, gesturing at his near-nakedness. Doyoung rolls his eyes. “I just don’t want you going through my stuff. I don’t need my porn alphabetized.”

 

“If you ever _do_ need it alphabetized, though, you know who to call,” Taeyong says, following Doyoung out into the living area.

 

For a little while, it’s not that bad. Taeyong washes the dirty dishes as Doyoung taps out a writing assignment on his laptop at the kitchen table. The hot flashes come and go, and although Taeyong’s skin seems to be begging him to do away with even his boxers, it’s easy enough to ignore. For a little while.

 

Then, when Taeyong’s unloading the dishwasher, it’s like a warm fist curling inside his gut. He gasps and manages to catch himself on the counter as his knees give out a little bit, the mug he was holding dropping from his hands and shattering on the kitchen floor. He feels a wet spot forming in his briefs and he lets out a groan of despair.

 

Doyoung, who had been standing in the living room with the lower half of his body inside and the upper half smoking out the window, draws back in when he hears the sound of ceramic breaking and rushes to the kitchen to find Taeyong huddled on the floor by the dishwasher.

 

“Sorry about your cup,” Taeyong murmurs, his voice shaky.

 

“S’okay, I’ll make another one,” Doyoung says softly. “Let’s get you to bed."

 

Taeyong flops back onto Doyoung’s bed and immediately assumes the fetal position. If Doyoung has noticed the tent in his briefs, he doesn’t say anything, instead silently going to the bathroom and coming back with a glass of water which he leaves on the bedside table. He sits on the bed next to him, reaching out to lightly lay a hand on Taeyong’s shoulder.

 

Taeyong’s head jerks back and his eyes flash to the soft hand on his feverish skin, then up Doyoung’s arm to his neck, then his mouth, then his eyes, then his mouth again. Taeyong feels strange. He’s not sure what to do, because his body is excited and flushed with heat, and his brain seems to be intent on associating it with the beta right next to him. He _knows_ that he’s not interested in Doyoung sexually, knows that he should be embarrassed to be seen like this by his best friend. But those thoughts are quiet in his mind while other thoughts, the ones about Doyoung’s hand on his skin and Doyoung’s scent all around him, are deafeningly loud.

 

Taeyong opens his mouth, and then swallows when he realizes how horrifically bad this could go. Doyoung just stares at him patiently, hand rubbing his shoulder gently (God, he probably thinks that it’s soothing, but it’s just making it all so much _worse_ ) until Taeyong comes up with a better way to say what he’s thinking.

 

“Doyoung,” he croaks, “It’s so bad.” For all his wit and sarcasm, Doyoung doesn’t seem to have a response to that. Instead he just nods, eyebrows pinching together slightly. “Doyoung,” Taeyong starts again, “If… if it keeps getting worse…” he trails off and takes a breath. “I’m going to ask you to help me.”

 

There, it’s out. Doyoung blinks. “…Help you?” he asks.

 

Taeyong scowls and blushes deeper. “You’re not an alpha, but you’re my best friend, and I trust you,” he says quietly. “If I asked you to help me through my heat, what would you say?”

 

Doyoung frowns slightly, the hand on Taeyong’s shoulder faltering and going still. He’s quiet, in thought.

 

“Please say something,” Taeyong begs. “Anything. You can say yes, or no, just say—”

 

“I have to say no,” Doyoung whispers. Taeyong grimaces and nods, humiliation twisting in his stomach. “I’m sorry,” Doyoung says.

 

“No, I’m sorry,” Taeyong replies.

 

“You don’t have to say that.” Doyoung stares at him with an expression Taeyong’s never seen before. It’s serious but somehow gentle, apologetic. “Taeyong, we’re best friends, like you said. And yeah, it really sucks and hurts to see you like this, but I… there are some things a friendship can’t come back from. And what you’re asking… or suggesting you would ask… that’s one of them. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s okay.” Taeyong’s face is as hot as the sun, the rest of his body only marginally less so. His groin aches and he hugs his knees to his chest. Doyoung’s hand starts moving again on his arm and Taeyong has to smack it away.

 

“Please stop touching me,” he says softly. Doyoung nods, withdrawing his arm. “You should leave,” Taeyong mutters, hiding his face in his hands.

 

“It’s my house, remember?” Doyoung replies.

 

“Please, Doyoungie,” Taeyong groans. “Before I embarrass myself any more. Please leave so you don’t see anything that would scar you for life.”

 

“Ah,” Doyoung says, “Right.” He stands up slowly, awkwardly shoving his hands in his pockets. “I guess I’ll… go do work in the library. Don’t forget our agreement about the bedsheets,” he adds. He walks to the bedroom door and pauses before turning back. “Hey, uh, I love you, man,” he says.

 

Taeyong snorts. “Don’t be stupid. I’m not dying.”

 

Doyoung fakes an offended gasp. “Maybe you should consider it, bitch,” he snarks, and then he turns and walks out, leaving Taeyong alone in the apartment with nothing but his hormones for company.

 

As soon as the door clicks shut, Taeyong kicks off his underwear, gasping as the cool air reaches the hottest part of his body. It’s not enough, of course it’s not enough. He can feel the slick starting to seep out from between his legs and he groans, rolling over and reaching for the towel that he had folded earlier and left on Doyoung’s desk chair.

 

With the towel unfolded on the bed, Taeyong lays on his back with his legs spread, staring at the ceiling fan. While it at least keeps the air in the room from going stagnant, the fan does nothing to cool down Taeyong’s overheated body. The warmth curls in his abdomen again, making his dick twitch against his stomach. Taeyong swallows, risking a glance downward at his crotch. He groans when he sees it, rock hard and an angry red, and his eyes immediately snap back up to the spinning blades of the fan.

 

He allows himself to get hypnotized, watching the fan turn like a pinwheel above his head and hoping he might be able to drift off to sleep. Of course, it doesn’t happen. Instead, he unconsciously allows his hand to drift downward of its own accord, palming his dick slowly and softly for all of five seconds before speeding up.

 

There’s no point to teasing himself, especially since Taeyong knows he will never be completely satisfied by his own hand. He groans as he wraps a hand around himself, keeping it closed as his hips jerk up, fucking into his tight fist. It’s like scratching a maddening itch and Taeyong’s eyes flutter shut. His hand dips down between his legs, collecting the slick that runs down his thighs and bringing it back up to aid the slide of his hand over his cock. The sensation is almost too much and his hips twitch again, his rhythm faltering as he all too quickly approaches what, under normal circumstances, _would_ be his climax.

 

His cock spits out a weak dribble of precum but otherwise just lays on his stomach like before, still hard and flushed and unassuming. Taeyong groans again, but this time it’s more of a whine of dismay. He rolls over onto his stomach, uselessly grinding his erection into the bed. Like before, his hand wanders back, between his legs and behind his groin to where his hole is leaking arousal, wetting his balls and taint and inner thighs.

 

At this point, Taeyong is just letting his body do what it wants, what comes naturally. He would be much more embarrassed about it if someone was home, and a distant part of his mind thanks Doyoung for leaving. A finger slips into his hole and Taeyong whimpers a little, kind of impressed at how wet he is. The first finger isn’t enough so he adds another, and the stretch is closer to what he really wants but still far from satisfying.

 

He lets out a frustrated groan and raises his ass so that he’s on his knees, drawing his fingers out and sliding them back in. The heat makes his body acclimate to the stretch too quickly, and Taeyong adds another finger, desperate to keep that twinge, to pretend he’s actually being filled. The angle makes it difficult to reach his prostate and he feels angry tears start to prick his eyes. His fingers are like nothing: not only do they not push him closer to the edge, but they don’t even bring him back down to zero. He’s not more or less turned on, he’s just clumsily trying to get his body off with absolutely no chance of success.

 

Taeyong’s fingers curl against his prostate and his body falls forward, the bedsheets muffling his choked sob as his dick throbs almost painfully. It’s useless, it’s all useless, and there’s nothing he can do. The tears flow freely now, a mixture of fury and shame dampening the towel and sheets underneath him.

 

Then, he hears the apartment door open, followed by the sound of the doorknob slamming against the wall and a mumbled apology in a low voice that Taeyong barely recognizes.

 

Taeyong bolts upright, hand whipping out from his ass to wipe itself on the towel. His pulse thrums in his ears as he reaches down to where the topsheet was kicked to the foot of the bed, drawing back up and wrapping it around himself.

 

“Jaehyun, I brought the mixtape I was telling you about,” the voice shouts. “Where are you, man? We gotta get ready for this weekend’s podcast, right?” The tone of confidence, the heavy footsteps… Taeyong’s heart creeps up into his throat when he realizes that the visitor is an alpha. Of course, it’s the smell that tips him off most of all – honey and cinnamon and something earthy, strong enough to lift Taeyong from his spot on the bed, if his fear and embarrassment weren’t gluing him down.

 

“Doyoung, do you have a girl over, man? The place smells like perfume…” and, oh no, Taeyong can hear those heavy footsteps approaching the bedroom door. He recognizes the voice just before the door opens and he gets to match it to a face.

 

It’s Johnny, Seo Youngho, a grad student and the other co-host of Jaehyun’s late night college radio show. Taeyong hasn’t seen him in person much, aside from a brief nod in passing, but he knows his voice well – last year, when he was behind on his final projects, he would listen to the radio in the wee hours, letting Johnny and Jaehyun’s voices distract him as he prepared canvases on pure autopilot. Of course, when he was just listening, he had nothing to associate Johnny’s voice to except the smell of gesso and the wirey feeling of caffeine in his blood. Now, all he can associate with the voice is that _smell_ , the overpowering scent of _alpha,_ sweet and musky over old spice and cigarettes. It takes Taeyong a second to even focus on his face, which takes a second to falter from a teasing smile to a gaping “Oh.”

 

“Johnny?” Taeyong asks, his voice rough from exertion and disuse. Johnny swallows, his eyes wide. The guy’s got an almost cartoony appearance, exaggerated by his dramatic gestures and deep-belly laugh. Taeyong doesn’t know him well, but he’s pretty fond of him nonetheless. The thing is – and maybe it’s the smell, or the heat – but he never really noticed how, well, _attractive_ Johnny Seo is. He’s tall, and tan, and he smells so _good_ … Taeyong finds himself leaning towards the body frozen in the door, shifting towards the edge of the bed.

 

“Taeyong,” Johnny squeaks, before clearing his throat, blushing. “What’s… what’s going on?”

 

“Johnny,” Taeyong says again, this time lower, softer. He scoots off the bed and stands up, sheet still wrapped around his naked figure. Either his mind is playing tricks on him, or he can actually hear Johnny’s breath catch as he moves closer. “Can’t you tell?” he asks quietly.

 

“You, y-you’re…” Johnny trails off, catching himself when his eyes start to wander from Taeyong’s face to his neck. The way his tongue sweeps discreetly across his lower lip doesn’t escape Taeyong’s notice, and he gains the courage to take another step forward. “I should go, right?” Johnny whispers.

 

“Don’t,” Taeyong says. His voice betrays a bit of his desperation, and Taeyong curses himself, but Johnny’s face seems to soften a bit, from embarrassed to worried. “Please don’t leave,” Taeyong says again, sighing.

 

“Aren’t you… in heat?” Johnny asks hesitantly. He fidgets, hands fiddling with each other in front of him, and Taeyong thinks it’s kind of cute. He never pegged Johnny as the shy type, especially since around the other alphas he hangs out with, he seems just as confident and annoying as the rest of them. Taeyong briefly considers his distrust of alphas, wondering where it went as he takes another step forward. “I should leave,” Johnny says again, taking a half-step backwards. “You don’t know what you’re—”

 

Taeyong’s hand shoots out, grabbing Johnny by the wrist. The alpha could easily overpower him, but instead Johnny goes still immediately, staring down at the wiry hand around his arm and then at Taeyong’s sweaty but determined face.

 

“Don’t you dare say,” he hisses, “That I don’t know what I’m doing. You don’t know what it’s like.” Johnny blinks down at him, and oh, he’s very tall. Looking up at him, the strength of his frame, and the strong alpha scent all make Taeyong a little dizzy, and he ignores the feeling of the slick creeping down the back of his knee.

 

“You’re right, I don’t,” Johnny breathes, and Taeyong can tell from his voice that the heat is affecting him as well. “I’m sorry.”

 

“The heat doesn’t make me do anything I don’t want to do,” Taeyong says, although he’s not entirely sure how true it might be. “And I want you to stay.” He keeps his eyes on Johnny’s face, holding his gaze. If Johnny wanted, he could use his natural intimidation as an alpha to make Taeyong look away, or make him bare his neck, perhaps even make him get on all fours, but instead he just stares. His eyes darken but he says nothing.

 

Taeyong releases the death grip he must have had on Johnny’s wrist and steps back, hands withdrawing into the sheet to adjust it around his shoulders. He knows he should feel embarrassed, but he also knows that Johnny is attracted to him. So the decision is his.

 

“You don’t know me,” Johnny murmurs finally. “You don’t know what I could do to you.”

 

Taeyong swallows, steeling his reserve. “Then why don’t you show me?” he asks quietly, allowing the sheet to drop from his shoulders and fall into a pile on the floor.

 

Johnny’s mouth falls open and he quickly pulls it closed. Taeyong refuses to look down at what must be a pretty impressive erection that he’s still sporting. He can smell himself again, strongly, and it makes him blush, but he maintains eye contact with the conflicted alpha in front of him.

 

Slowly, Johnny steps forward, eyes cast down. “Are you sure?” he asks. Taeyong nods, brows pinching together as an unexpected wave of heat makes the muscles in his thighs flutter. Johnny must have noticed Taeyong wobble a bit, because his hands are suddenly supporting him by the upper arms. “Taeyong,” he whispers, “If you wanted me to say that this is a bad idea, this is me saying it. And I don’t think… I-I won’t be able to stop, you know? If we really do this. So if you are having second thoughts, just tell me now, and—”

 

Taeyong ignores him. He reaches out, fingers tangling in the hair at the back of Johnny’s head and pulling him down to crush their lips together. “I’m not gonna want you to stop,” he groans against Johnny’s mouth, “I need you to knot me.”

 

That seems to be all the convincing it takes for Johnny’s strong arms to wrap around him, and suddenly Taeyong’s ability to talk seems to kind of just… vanish. Something about skin on skin, something about the smell and feel and _taste_ of an alpha being all around him has Taeyong gasping and clawing at Johnny’s shoulders, moaning and licking into his mouth.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Johnny mutters. He stoops slightly to lift Taeyong into his arms, carrying him towards the bed. Taeyong’s back hits the sheets and there’s a moment of confused loss of contact as Johnny peels off his shirt before crawling over Taeyong’s body and kissing his neck. “You smell like cherry blossoms,” he murmurs into his skin.

 

The words only half-register with Taeyong, who is focused on the feeling of Johnny’s teeth and tongue on his neck. He wraps his legs around Johnny’s waist, pulling his hips down so that he could have something to press his erection against.

 

Thankfully, Johnny seems to get the message, grinding down and making him whimper. Taeyong’s hands scramble to undo his belt, desperate to feel more of him. Johnny’s lips are maddening, they feel addictively soft and Taeyong moans around Johnny’s tongue in his mouth. His hands are rough and warm on Taeyong’s skin, lighting little fires underneath. It’s all too much and yet not enough. He shoves Johnny’s jeans down around his knees so that they are easily kicked off, and then they’re both naked and its almost _exactly_ what he wants. Almost.

 

“C-closer,” he manages. “Get closer.” Johnny huffs a laugh, looking down at where their bodies are almost completely aligned from hip to shoulder.

 

“Closer, huh? How?” he teases.

 

“Inside,” Taeyong groans, lifting one leg to nudge Johnny back a bit with his knee. He curls his hands around the backs of his thighs and pulls them to his chest, exposing himself. He glances away, unable to maintain eye contact, but he hears Johnny’s breath escape in a harsh exhale.

 

“Okay,” he whispers, and then Taeyong feels a wide hand on his inner thigh as two fingers probe at his entrance.

 

The fingers slip in easily and the whine that escapes him is strangled and embarrassingly high-pitched. Johnny lets out an appreciative sigh as his fingers sink in all the way to the knuckle.

 

Taeyong wants to tell him that he doesn’t need any prep, that his body is already loose and pliant and ready to take whatever the alpha is willing to give him, but then Johnny adds another finger and Taeyong can’t help the way he goes convex as he feels him brush against his prostate. He shouts, hands leaping to dig his nails into Johnny’s biceps. The fingers in of him now are thicker than his own and it makes his insides buzz.

 

Johnny draws his fingers out and pushes them back in, rubbing at Taeyong’s walls and making a scream bubble up in his chest, escaping as a whine. “You’re so wet,” he mumbles wondrously.

 

_No shit_ , Taeyong thinks, but what he says is “ _N-need more_.” He lets out a grunt when Johnny delivers a particularly accurate thrust of his fingers. “Alpha, I need _more_.”

 

“Don’t call me Alpha,” Johnny mumbles, running his lips lightly across Taeyong’s jaw. “Just call me Johnny.”

 

“I want. To call you. _Alpha_ ,” Taeyong grits out. He hears a gasp and a low chuckle and then Johnny is withdrawing his fingers and leaning over to prop himself up with his hands on either side of Taeyong’s head. He feels Johnny’s erection against his upper thigh and for the first time he allows himself a glance down. It makes him lose his breath for a second.

 

Taeyong hasn’t slept with an alpha before, but he knows what everyone else knows about alpha dicks. Seeing one in person, however, is a different story. Some small part of him, probably the logical part, is terrified. Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t let that thing anywhere near his asshole. But thanks to the heat, Johnny’s cock mostly just makes his mouth water.

 

“God,” Taeyong groans, his hand automatically finding his own erection again. “Need you inside me _now_.”

 

“Shit,” Johnny mumbles. He lines himself up with Taeyong’s entrance, something close to surprise registering on his face as the head slips in easily, as if Taeyong’s body is pulling him inside. Johnny leans over, almost folding Taeyong in half as he presses his knees to his chest and slowly pushes in deeper.

 

When he bottoms out, Johnny makes a sound like all the air has been punched out of his lungs, just as Taeyong lets out a quiet little broken whimper. The alpha cock inside of him seems to be pressing in all the right spots. For the first time since he woke up Taeyong finally feels content, _full_ , and if his legs weren’t hooked over Johnny’s arms he would wrap them around the alpha and hold him there forever.

 

He hears Johnny ask if he’s alright through clenched teeth, and realizes that his eyes have been screwed shut, his mouth hanging open as pleasure makes him feel frozen in time. He opens his eyes after feeling a calloused thumb wipe some drool from his chin. Johnny’s face is very close and very sweaty, brows pinched and cheeks red. His expression is slightly concerned underneath the haze of arousal, and Taeyong nods and hums when he remembers that he must have been asked a question.

 

Apparently that was the right response, because Johnny huffs through his nose and leans back again, keeping Taeyong folded against the bed with warm hands under his knees. He pulls out slowly and cranes his neck slightly, casting his eyes down Taeyong’s flushed figure as he thrusts back in, just as languidly. Taeyong is about to whine that Johnny isn’t moving quickly enough, but when he follows the alpha’s dark gaze, he realizes that his eyes are transfixed on his own cock, watching it slowly disappear back inside of Taeyong’s wet heat. The realization makes him release a shaky breath.

 

“So fucking gorgeous,” Johnny mumbles, drawing out again before slamming back in, this time hard enough to make Taeyong’s head snap back, a loud moan falling from his lips.

 

“Again, again, _please_ ,” Taeyong begs, and Johnny happily obliges, hips snapping forward again and again at an accelerating pace. Taeyong’s hands find Johnny’s shoulders and he pulls him down too roughly, nails leaving bright red marks as he roughly connects their mouths again. Wet sounds fill the room; both his ass and Johnny’s hips are slick with Taeyong’s arousal, and the vulgar slapping noises they make are humiliating and satisfying at the same time.

 

Taeyong craves the stretch, the way it feels like he is wrapped so tightly around Johnny’s cock that he could be torn apart. He is somewhat horrified at how the heat awakens some primal urge within him, how the thought of being filled with an alpha’s seed makes his entire body throb with want. For a brief moment he considers how alphas and omegas have mated like this for millennia, and then Johnny drives right into his prostate and Taeyong can’t consider anything at all.

 

He lets out a garbled moan, his eyes rolling back. He’s gone limp in Johnny’s arms, allowing the alpha to pound into him without resistance. Johnny’s enthusiasm makes his thrusts somewhat less than accurate, but just the feeling of his cock dragging against his insides is enough to wind Taeyong tighter and tighter.

 

“Close?” Johnny huffs, leaning in to run a soft wet tongue across Taeyong’s throat. Taeyong whines and nods vigorously.

 

“ _So fucking close_ ,” he says, finding his voice. He almost doesn’t recognize it, raspy and breathless. It sounds like someone else is speaking from far away when he only half-lucidly whines, “Keep going, make me cum, _alpha_ , I _need_ it…”

 

Johnny actually _snarls_ into his ear and picks up the pace, ramming into Taeyong with enough force to knock a scream out of him. Taeyong is certain he’s making all _kinds_ of embarrassing noises, but he can’t focus on anything except the feeling of Johnny’s knot swelling inside of him.

 

Taeyong climaxes almost unexpectedly as Johnny’s thrusts become more shallow, his cock expanding and rubbing against Taeyong’s prostate with every movement of his body. Johnny fucks him through his orgasm, and even has the indecency to laugh softly when Taeyong moans out a slurred “thank you thank you _thank you_ ” as he cums, and cums, and _cums,_ an unlikely amount of white painting his stomach and chest as his body shudders and tenses. Johnny finishes shortly afterwards with a deep-chested moan, and the warm, wet feeling inside of him causes Taeyong’s cock to choke out another few drops of semen.

 

For a while they are still, silent except for the sounds of heavy breathing. Johnny flops bonelessly on top of Taeyong’s body as he waits for his knot to deflate. Taeyong has a bit of trouble sucking in a breath with six feet of muscly alpha weighing down on him, but it’s a nice feeling, safe and warm. His fever has subsided to a not-unpleasant smoldering sensation under his skin, and the drying mixture of sweat and spunk between their bellies is the only thing soiling the moment.

 

“Geddoff,” Taeyong grunts after another minute, and Johnny makes a muffled whining noise into his shoulder as he slowly pulls out. The sensation of an unanticipated rush of slick and cum dribbling out of his hole onto the sheets makes Taeyong’s face go bright red. He lets out an embarrassed squeak and Johnny laughs, scooting up close next to him and resting a hand on Taeyong’s stomach, tracing light fingers around his navel.

 

They lay there for a while longer, not bothering to make conversation and instead enjoying a comfortable quiet between them. Taeyong enjoys the feeling of Johnny’s hands caressing his skin, and he leans in closer, shutting his eyes and pressing his cheek against Johnny’s chest, breathing his scent as deep into his lungs as he can. He feels a gentle hand begin playing with his hair and he hums contentedly. Exhaustion weighs heavy in his body and Taeyong allows himself to drift off in Johnny’s arms, entirely at peace until there’s the sound of a door opening outside, followed by a questioning grunt.

 

Doyoung bursts into the room a second later, stopping in the doorway with a horrified expression. He immediately slaps a hand over his eyes with an anguished whine. “No, fucking, way,” he groans.

 

“Try knocking next time,” Johnny suggests.

 

“ _IT’S MY ROOM, YOU FUCKING SOGGY NAPKIN,_ ” Doyoung roars. He brings his other hand up to his face as well and starts fake-sobbing. Or he could actually be crying – Taeyong wouldn’t put it past him. “My poor sheets… I said you could rest here, not fuck an alpha all over my bed,” Doyoung weeps.

 

“I’ll clean them,” Taeyong mumbles. Actually, for once, cleaning is the last thing on his mind. His body is tired and aching, and he just longs to rest and recuperate until his heat starts flaring up again. He unintentionally curls closer to Johnny, who seems to pick up on what he wants and tightens his arms around Taeyong’s body.

 

“God, don’t… don’t worry about it,” Doyoung scowls, waving a hand at the bed while looking anywhere else. “Just get out of here. Can you go back home?”

 

Taeyong doesn’t know if Yuta is home yet, and a big part of him doesn’t want to go anywhere without Johnny. Something about being in his arms has Taeyong feeling protected, and he’s thankful when the alpha says, “I’ll take care of him.”

 

He is allowed to doze off in bed as Johnny gets dressed. Taeyong can hear him and Doyoung bickering outside for a few minutes, not bothering to focus on what they’re saying. He finds himself floating between sleep and consciousness until the bedroom door opens and he feels strong arms around him, wrapping him up in the soiled sheets and lifting him easily.

 

His eyes stay closed and he gleans the changes in environment from smell alone. From Doyoung’s apartment out into the hall, down to Doyoung’s car, and then to a place Taeyong’s never been before. The new smells are loud and diverse, alphas and betas and cigarettes and patchouli. It is almost overwhelming until he is carried to a quiet room that smells like Johnny, and tucked into a comfortable bed that smells like Johnny. Only when he feels a body that smells like Johnny press up against him under the covers does Taeyong finally open his eyes, to see the alpha’s handsome face smiling back at him.

 

“Thank you,” he whispers, feeling almost guilty that those words alone cannot account for all that Johnny has done for him. Their meaning seems to get across just fine, however, and Johnny just nods and pulls him closer. Taeyong finally falls asleep to the sound of the alpha’s heartbeat, strong and stable and soft.


End file.
